


Some Enchanted Evening

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dancing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Mission Fic, Not Beta Read, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4817420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Clint meet at a dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Enchanted Evening

**Author's Note:**

> redsector-a said: For a prompt, how about meeting at a dance?

Because he was a consummate professional, trained in spy craft by Nick Fury himself, Phil Coulson absolutely did not do a double take when he recognized one of the men standing in the group around Troy Maynard, his mark for this op. 

Instead, Phil turned and focused his attention on the couples gliding across the dance floor, and took a small sip from the champagne flute in his hand. He wasn't on comms, so he couldn't ask why a second agent had been sent in without his knowledge. It was supposed to be a very simple op: get close enough to the mark to plant a tracker on him without his suspecting anything. Maybe at the last minute someone had decided to double their chances by sending Barton in as well?

But that didn't make any sense. Barton was new, inexperienced. Phil only knew who he was because of his remarkable marksmanship scores on the SHIELD range, and his equally remarkable performance on one of Jasper Sitwell's ops last month. From his perch, Barton had spotted three enemy snipers and taken them all out single-handedly before any of the other, more experienced SHIELD agents had even realized they were there. Jasper had been impressed enough by it to tell Phil about it.

Phil had read Barton's file after that, figuring that this was a asset he'd be requesting in the future, often. So Phil knew, standing there, pretending to watch the dancing while keeping an eye on his mark, that Barton was sure to spot him. And although they had never worked together, Phil knew he had a certain... reputation among the junior agents, so he was pretty sure Barton would recognize him. Maybe Barton had a message to deliver? That was a much more likely scenario. In fact, Phil decided, that was probably the case. So rather than continue to work out how to get close enough to the mark to tag him, Phil waited for Barton to make a move. 

It took almost a half-hour, during which Phil drank one glass of mediocre champagne, ate three fairly disgusting shrimp canapés, and watched the tall woman in the emerald-evening gown get her foot stepped on five times by her inept dance partner, but eventually Phil saw Barton disconnect himself from the laughing group and head for the bar. 

Phil didn't move right away. He was still a spy trained by Nick Fury after all. He watched the group to see if anyone was paying particular attention to Barton's departure. He watched Barton's spot at the bar to see if anyone else approached him. When neither of those things happened, Phil finally headed over. 

The stool next to Barton was empty and Phil slid onto it. 

"Bourbon rocks, please," Phil said to the bartender's enquiry, ordering something that was in character for his cover identity, but that he honestly wouldn't mind a sip of right now.

Barton hadn't said anything yet, or even made eye-contact. Phil leaned his elbows on the bar, looking for all the world like a man who was bored of the party and eagerly awaiting his drink.

"I wasn't aware there was anyone else assigned to this operation," he said just loudly enough for Barton to hear him over the sound of the party and the live swing band in far corner of the dance floor.

"I wasn't. Assigned. I'm, uh, here as Nathan's," Barton jerked his head to indicate the group still standing around Phil's mark. "uh, his plus one. I hope I haven't fucked up your op?" 

Phil did not react with surprise or shock. He did, however, pick up his drink and take a very small sip to give himself time to think. 

"Which one's Nathan?" he asked, a variety of possibilities running through his head.

To his credit, Barton didn't do anything as obvious as turn around to point, or even look. "The one with the kinda shimmery brown suit and way too much gel in his hair. At your ten o'clock."

"And what's his relationship to Troy Maynard?"

"Uh, from what I can tell they're old college buddies. Fraternity brothers or some shit like that. They keep making jokes about stuff that happened back then and laughing a lot. I don't actually know Nathan very well. Or, uh, at all really." Barton's tone was subdued.

Phil nodded very slightly and swung around on his stool to look back at the dance floor. After a moment, Barton did the same. "Look if there's anything I can do to help," he said.

"I don't want to interrupt your evening," Phil said mildly, glancing briefly over at the convivial-looking group of men and women who were laughing loudly at something Maynard had just said.

"I was having a pretty shitty time, actually. I would have probably ditched Nathan completely and gone home already if I hadn't seen you. But if you want me to take you over and introduce you as an old friend or something..."

"No, nothing obvious like that. Maynard, the mark, is too wary. Too skittish. I wouldn't be able to get close enough him, even if you introduced us. Not without him suspecting something. That's why I'm here by myself. I need to slip a tracker onto him without him knowing." Phil explained the basics of the op to Barton, and as he did the beginnings of a plan was starting for form in his head.

"I could try to do it, if you want. He knows Nathan, so he trusts me a little, I guess."

"No offense, Barton, but-"

"You need to do it yourself. I get that." Beside him, Barton was sipping a tall glass of cola and ice. Knowing what he did from the man's file, Phil was pretty sure there wasn't any rum in his glass.

"You said you weren't having fun. If you don't mind my asking, how invested are you in your relationship with Nathan?" 

"Invested?" Barton snorted. "More like pissed off at myself for agreeing to go out with him in the first place. I hardly know the guy. I see him running in the park a couple of mornings a week and we chat sometimes at the water fountain. On Monday, he said he had an extra ticket to a fancy party and did I want to go with him? I figured what the fuck, why not? He's kinda hot and... anyway. But it turns out he's an asshole who's only interested in how much money other people make and what kind of cars they drive and how expensive their vacations are. If I never see him again it'll be too soon." Barton's words were bitter.

Phil kept gazing out at the dance floor, thinking. He'd spent the better part of the last hour trying to come up with a way of planting the tracker on Maynard in a way that wouldn't make him suspicious (which the old trick of bumping into him and spilling a drink most certainly would) so he was willing to bend the mission parameters a little and enlist Barton's help.

"Can you dance?" Phil asked, and glanced over to see Barton's reaction to the question. It was a slow, easy smile.

"If you lead, I can follow," he said.

Phil took another sip of his drink, not bothering to pretend to himself that it was anything other than fortification, and then put it on the bar. "Shall we?" He slipped off his stool and held out his hand. Barton smiled brightly now, slipping into his roll and gave a slight bow before putting his hand in Phil's. 

Phil was focused on his plans and the mission, but he couldn't help but notice, and appreciate, the warm, solid feel of Barton's hand gripping his. It had been far too long since... Phil shook himself mentally. 'Not going there. Certainly not now,' he thought as he reached the dance floor and turned, holding his arms out for Barton to step into them.

The band was playing a waltz, for which Phil was eminently grateful, as it gave them as easy rhythm to start with. Barton had laid his free hand on Phil's shoulder, so Phil's went naturally to Barton's waist. Barton was wearing a deep purple silk shirt with a black tie, but no jacket. Phil could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric, and his thoughts again flicked to how long it hand been since he... 

"I'm going to take us around the floor a couple of times, and then we'll try to get your, ah, date's attention, okay?" 

"Sure thing. Just let me know what the plan is."

Phil gave a small nod, and moved them easily across the dance floor, marveling at Barton's ability to follow his lead. He remembered the 'previous employment' section of Barton's file, which listed two former occupations: mercenary assassin, and circus performer. Still, it was smooth and effortless, and only a few steps later, Phil found himself gathering Barton in just a little closer, and starting to add a little more swing and a few small flourishes to his steps. 

"The plan," he said into Barton's ear, "is to make your date jealous enough to cause a scene. Hopefully that will let me get close enough to Maynard. Are you up for it?"

"Totally." Barton leaned back so that Phil could see the wide grin on his face. "The guy's an asshole, and I love the idea of making him think I ditched him for you."

Phil ignored the little flip-flop his guts did at that. "Good. Follow my lead."

"Anywhere, anytime," Barton said cheerfully and moved in a little closer, sliding his hand from the top of Phil's shoulder to his back, fingers on the collar of his jacket and thumb resting on the back of his neck. 

They danced. Phil kept having to drag his attention back to the mission, back to the mark, who was still standing drinking and laughing with his friends. But then the waltz ended, and the next song was a more upbeat number. Phil hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself as he quickened his steps and led Barton through the first few bars of the tune. Barton, of course, picked up the steps almost immediately, and grinned at him widely as they moved, adding twirls and exchanges and other flourishes. Phil realized they were starting to draw attention on the dance floor, which wasn't a bad thing. The whole idea of this plan had been to get Barton's date's attention.

Phil found himself regretting that the dance would soon be over. He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself this much, been so at ease with someone. Dancing with Barton felt so smooth, so natural, so... good. They twirled, and Phil maneuvered them towards the Maynard's group, all of whom were now glancing over at Barton and himself. 

'Bingo,' thought Phil, just as the song ended. Phil and Barton came to a stop standing a few feet from the group. Barton's date was scowling at them, but didn't seem inclined to make something of it, yet. The band started up again, now playing a slow, smoky version of "Moon River." Not having any other plan, Phil gathered Barton in close and whispered in his ear, "Still okay?"

"Better than," Barton answered, leaving Phil to wonder what the heck that meant. He got a clue a moment later when Barton slipped his arms under his suit jacket and laid his cheek next to Phil's. 

One of Barton's hands had snaked up along his spine and the other was around his waist, holding him close. Phil reminded himself that it was a mission. They were both play-acting for the benefit of Barton's date, and his date's friend, Phil's mark. But it felt so damn good to hold and be held in strong arms. To have warm skin against his cheek. To feel... wanted. 

Telling himself it was part of the plan, he cupped the back of Barton's neck and rubbed at the skin under his ear with long slow sweeps of his thumb. He felt, rather than heard, the low sigh Barton made. 

"Don't hate me," Barton whispered into his ear, and then started to kiss him. Soft, gentle brushes of lips against Phil's cheek at first, giving Phil a minute to get used to the idea as Barton worked his way around to Phil's lips. Just before he got there, he pulled back a little, looking into Phil's eyes.

He didn't know if Barton was asking for permission or forgiveness, but Phil hoped that what showed in his own expression offered both. He used his hand on the back of Barton's neck to urge him in, desperate now to taste this man's lips.

They were softer than he expected, pressing against his with a gentleness that made Phil's heart ache. Surely Barton wasn't such a good actor that... Barton's mouth opened slightly, capturing Phil's lower lip between both of his, and for a moment, Phil forgot about the mission and kissed him back hungrily, their bodies pressed close together and still swaying in time to the music. 

"You really know how to rub a guy's nose in it, Clint." Phil opened his eyes and pulled away, but not far. Barton—Clint—still had his arms under Phil's suit jacket, and was still holding him close.

"Yeah, well I got a little bored with your Phi Kappa Whatever stories and found myself some better company." Clint let him go now, and Phil turned, facing Nathan and his friends. He was back on mission. Maynard was just to Nathan's left, a drink in his hand, smirking at the exchange. Phil slipped his hand into his pants pocket and palmed the tracker.

"Well, you've got shitty taste and worse manners. I invite you to a 250 dollar-a-plate event, and you ditch me for this sad old queen?"

Clint hit him. Nathan staggered back, blood spurting from his nose, and Maynard and two other Phi Kappa Whatevers jumped into the mêlée. It took Phil five seconds to choreograph the perfect opportunity to plant the tracker, and once he had, he said loudly to Clint, "What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?"

"You lead, I'll follow," Clint said. Phil grinned, suddenly having the time of his life. He put the Phi Kappa he was facing down with an easy combination of punches, and then nodded to Clint who'd dealt with the two men facing him. They nodded to each other, grinning. Phil straightened his tie, then led Clint out of the ballroom and down a back corridor to avoid the security guards who had been called.

Two minutes later they were out on the street, heading for a cab stand. Phil had to fight the impulse to take Clint's hand.

"So, that was a blast. What are you doing next Saturday?" Clint said with a laugh.

Phil's stomach clenched. Sure Clint didn't really mean what that sounded like "Nothing anywhere near as much fun, I'm sure."

"That's too bad." Clint stopped walking and turned to face him. "Because I had a really good time," he said softly. "I don't suppose-"

"Yes." The word came out of Phil's mouth without his permission.

"What?" 

"Sorry," Phil said, and put his hand on Clint's arm, squeezing gently. "You were going to ask me something?" he said, looking into Clint's eyes.

"Would you, um, take me dancing again sometime?" Clint asked.

"I'd love to."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at: [Jo Mathieson](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/) and on Livejournal at: [jmathieson-fic](http://jmathieson-fic.livejournal.com/)


End file.
